


Fall to Pieces

by moonstone1520



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Panic Attacks, post-HLV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 06:04:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5153036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonstone1520/pseuds/moonstone1520
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone is allowed to fall apart now and again. Including the great Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall to Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Post-HLV.  
> This is just a small drabble I cobbled together. I tried to keep this as in character as possible.

In the four minutes he’d been on the plane and in the air, Sherlock Holmes finally allowed himself to feel some of the dreaded sentiment that he’d kept at bay for so long. He’d slowly allowed himself to experience the overwhelming loss of his country, his family, his friends, and the life he’d lived.

  
Until his brother’s phone call.

  
Upon stepping onto the tarmac, all emotion had been locked up and shoved away to be dealt with later.

  
But during the car ride over to Baker Street, while barking orders at his brother to locate the whereabouts of Lestrade, Molly and Mrs. Hudson, a new feeling began to creep up on him, one he was wholly unfamiliar with and had only experienced a very few times in his life.

  
Panic. Pure unadulterated panic.

  
He kept a cool exterior, but there were signs. Like how his fingers wouldn’t stop dancing, or how he worried the inside of his cheek. It wasn’t just the reappearance of Moriarty that got to him, but the imminent danger that his nearest and dearest were in. Again. For if he was really and truly alive, Moriarty would have taken into account Molly’s involvement and Mary’s proximity to him. And the fact that Sherlock had escaped the clutches of death once again.

  
With a monumental effort, Sherlock buried the panic deep inside of himself, though it lingered on the edge of his consciousness for the remainder of the night.

  
For hours the group stayed at Baker Street, plotting security, deciding plans of attack, theorizing, arguing. It was only after Mary fell asleep on the sofa that John called a halt to the proceedings, deciding that Moriarty wasn’t going to attack Baker Street that night. Slowly, everyone filed out to return to their respective homes, leaving Sherlock alone in front of the window, watching them all leave.

  
Once the door shut behind John and Mary, the panic that he’d tried so hard to keep at bay threatened to overwhelm him, and the emotions he’d kept under lock and key since leaving the plane escaped. His breathing became shallower and his face contorted with efforts to control himself and his emotions—moreso when he heard the bathroom door open.

  
“Sorry about that, Sherlock, I’ll just grab my coat and—Sherlock?”

  
Molly stopped and listened to the detective. His breathing came harsh and fast and his normally rigid posture was bent and hunched. She approached him and led him to his chair, gently easing him down. She knelt in front of him and took his wrists in her hands, moving her thumbs in circles, feeling his rapid pulse as she tried to bring him back from the brink.

  
“Sherlock, it’s alright, you’re having a panic attack. I’m here, I’m here. I’m here Sherlock. Breathe with me, okay?”

  
Molly began taking large, gulping breaths, prodding Sherlock to do the same. His body trembled as he fought through his panic-induced haze, latching on to Molly’s voice and allowing her to soothe him. He mimicked her breathing, feeling his panic slowly ebb away while his emotions about leaving to his death overtook him. His breathing and heartrate slowed, and the tears began to fall as he allowed himself to feel everything he’d kept at bay for so long. He let himself fall apart in front of the woman who mattered the most, the one he’d have to protect most fiercely if Moriarty was truly back.

  
Molly watched him as his trembling slowed and halted. When the tears he shed landed on her fingers, she slid her arms around him, letting him cry into her jumper while she held him. He gripped her like a drowning man as she drew patterns on his back and rocked him while he cried, not saying a word, for no words were needed.

  
Everyone is allowed to fall apart now and again. Including the great Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
